


A Lesson in Comfort and Desire

by RosalindInPants



Series: Intimate Lessons [2]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: AU - sin, Blow Jobs, Erectile Dysfunction, First Time Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 02:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants
Summary: Thomas is having a hard time with his trauma from Rome. Wolfe helps. With sex.(Post-canon. Thomas is 18.)
Relationships: Thomas Schreiber/Christopher Wolfe (The Great Library)
Series: Intimate Lessons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655851
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	A Lesson in Comfort and Desire

**Author's Note:**

> From Paper and Fire:  
"The Printing of Ink to Paper Using Characters Carved in Wood by Ling Chao"  
"What year?" Thomas asked. Wolfe didn't answer. "Sir? What year?"  
"Translated from the Chinese calendar? Year eight hundred sixty-eight," he whispered at last.

"Here it is, sir. Ling Chao's press." Thomas stopped in front of the machine and lifted the delicate original text containing the plans from its nearby stand. "Thank you very much for all of your assistance with the translations. I appreciate your coming to check it before the exhibition."

"Certainly. It has been a pleasure to collaborate with you, Scholar Schreiber." With his hands gloved to protect the pages, Wolfe opened the book and stepped closer to examine the machine, comparing it with the sketches on the page. Though he had no doubt that the device was built perfectly according to plan, Wolfe still took his time, slowly circling the press and leaning in to inspect each piece. For the purpose of this exhibition on the history of the printing press, even a nonfunctional replica might have been adequate, but Thomas had built the press to be fully functional. There was even a complete set of Chinese characters made for it.

The test page, a page from Confucius, printed perfectly. With the page in his hand and an irritating prickling in his eyes, Wolfe turned to give his report to Thomas.

But the young man was nowhere to be seen.

Probably distracted with one of the other model presses. The entire room, one of the larger exhibition rooms on the lower levels of the Lighthouse, was filled with them, neatly arranged in rows, each displayed with its original plans. Most of those plans were already enclosed in Obscurist-sealed glass display cases, ready for viewing by the general public. For as many of the presses as possible, a short history of the creation and suppression of the device was included alongside the plans.

There were far too few. So many designs had been lost when the Black Archives burned. The ones that remained were volumes that had been found in the former Archivist's private stash or donated by collectors and smugglers. The Ling Chao text was one such find. One copy burned with the Black Archives, but there had been another, a draft kept as a priceless family heirloom, at least until Jess tracked it down. How it had escaped the Library's destruction of its author and all his work, no one would ever know.

Wolfe's own original invention stood among them, built from the plans in the book Nic had carried out of the Black Archives. He'd called Nic a sentimental fool when he'd learned his lover tucked that book into his jacket instead of one of the many more valuable texts they'd been forced to leave behind. But he'd been the sentimental one himself just a week ago, holding that volume again, building from drawings made by hands not yet broken, a mind not yet haunted. He hadn't been able to read the whole of it again. He'd needed Nic at his side to even recreate the press.

Thomas's press was included in the exhibit as well. They'd found his journal in the former Archivist's hidden library. And there, beside the model of his first press, was Thomas, crouched before the machine to make some adjustment.

No. That wasn't it. The young Scholar's body shook with tremors Wolfe knew all too well.

"Thomas," he said, pouring every drop of warmth he could gather into his voice despite the chill in his veins.

Thomas said nothing, but a violent shudder ran through him.

"Thomas," Wolfe said again, taking slow, even steps toward his former student. "It's me, Scholar Christopher Wolfe. We are in the Lighthouse exhibition room. There is no one else here. You are safe." He spoke each statement slowly and precisely in German, remembering with painful clarity the many times when he'd found it difficult to process words himself. Thomas, who had never shared Wolfe's aptitude for languages, might struggle even more. Upon reaching Thomas's side, he placed a hand on Thomas's shoulder, mimicking the firm grip that Nic used on him when he lost himself in memories. Solidity was essential in this. Too light a touch, and the mind would dismiss it as a hallucination.

A soft groan escaped Thomas's lips. He shuddered, his eyes focused on a point beyond the machine in front of his face.

Kneeling beside Thomas, Wolfe put his other hand over Thomas's where it rested on the press's support beam. "Can you hear me? If you cannot speak, squeeze my hand for yes." He knew - gods, how he knew - what it was like to drown so deeply in the past that speech became impossible.

Thomas's hand turned to grasp Wolfe's, and Thomas said in a wavering voice, "Yes. Yes. I can hear you, Scholar Wolfe." With his other hand, he patted the machine in front of him, feeling along the wooden frame until he touched a small notch on the underside of a board. "This is real. But it is not the same one. Jess was right. It helps to have something different about it, even if it makes it inaccurate."

"You're doing very well," Wolfe said. "Take a few breaths now, deep and slow." For all that Thomas was larger, paler, and more inclined to dress in stained work clothes, watching Thomas follow his directions was like watching himself from outside his body. Shoulders rose and fell with shaky breaths, and he recognized the tension in those shoulders as his own. Eyes peeked from behind lids that threatened to clamp shut again, and he knew the look in them like he knew his own name. Pain. Fear. Apprehension. Hope. Their hands, fingers intertwined, shook together against the press. No way to be sure which was the source of the tremor.

For a strange, fleeting moment, Wolfe felt the urge to draw Thomas's hand to his lips and kiss it. Absurd. But it was what Nic would have done, for him. And what was he doing, if not playing Nic's role instead of his own for a change?

Thomas turned toward him, chasing the bizarre thought from his mind. "I'm sorry. I just..."

"You've done nothing wrong," Wolfe said with a sharp shake of his head. He stood, ignoring the protests of his knees, and gave a gentle tug on Thomas's hand, still clasped in his own. So big, that hand. Larger than his own. Larger than Nic's. "Come on. This is hardly a place for either of us to linger."

* * *

With a gesture toward the table in the middle of the one-room apartment, Thomas continued toward the corner that served as his kitchen. "Go on and sit, Scholar Wolfe. I will make us some tea."

Though cluttered with books, sketchpads, and bits and pieces of partially constructed machines, the apartment looked clean enough. The bed was made, the kitchen counter clean but for a single mug beside the small sink, and the books on the table stacked neatly. Either Thomas kept house better than Wolfe would have expected, or one of the other children had signed him up for the Lighthouse's cleaning service.

Thomas himself looked better than he'd been downstairs in the exhibition room. There was a smile on his face and a smooth, even quality to his movements that spoke well of his mental state. No sign of tremors as he filled the teapot from the tap. But when he reached up to open a cabinet, the illusion of wellness shattered. As soon as his elbow came above shoulder level to reach for the handle, he winced, and his arm was stiff as he continued through the pain to open the cabinet door and remove a mug.

Wolfe rose from his seat and crossed the short distance between himself and his former student, stopping him with a hand on his biceps before he could reach up for a second mug. "You told me nothing hurt." He'd checked symptoms while they rode the lift up to this floor. Rigorously checked symptoms.

"This?" Thomas shrugged. "This is normal. I sleep badly on it sometimes."

"Hmm." Wolfe slid his hand up Thomas's thick and muscular arm to reach his shoulder. "May I?"

Thomas nodded, leaning forward to brace himself with both hands on the counter.

Starting with a light touch, Wolfe ran his hands over Thomas's broad shoulders. Such a large, powerful frame for someone with such a gentle heart. Had he been inclined toward combat, Thomas could have easily become even more dangerous in a fight than Nic, but instead, Thomas applied his strength toward building and creating, and Wolfe could feel the subtle differences in musculature resulting from that difference. More noticeably, though, he could feel the tight knots of tension in not only that one shoulder, but the other as well, and spreading down Thomas's arms and back. This was more than just the result of a single night's sleep in an awkward position.

"With tension like this, I cannot imagine how you could sleep well." Wolfe said, continuing to trace the lines of tension through the thick fabric of Thomas's shirt. "This is bad enough to merit seeing a Medica."

"No." Thomas almost growled the word, and his muscled tensed further for an instant before relaxing again as he let out a sigh. "I don't like it. Being touched by a stranger. You understand."

Wolfe gave a wordless hum of agreement. He'd never been much for Medicas and their prodding, and since Rome... well, since Rome, nothing short of hemorrhaging wounds seemed worth seeing a Medica over. That made his irritation at Thomas's refusal to seek care hypocritical, he supposed.

"Jess helps, sometimes. But right now..."

It was such a familiar dilemma, Wolfe almost laughed at it. "Jess is away, and you have no one else you trust to ask. Is that it?"

Thomas dipped his head forward in assent, overgrown blond curls falling into his face.

Wolfe pressed in on a knot of muscle with two knuckles. "Would you trust me? To help?"

"I could not ask that of you, sir. Your hands..."

That made Thomas the first of the children to speak of the fault lines of Wolfe's hands. The fingers that didn't lie precisely straight and the cracked nail that had grown back in badly. The tremors and the thin lines of scar tissue. He suspected Khalila, at least, had noticed, but they'd all kept quiet. "They aren't made of glass. I didn't ask if you thought me capable of the task, I asked if you trusted me to do it."

Though he couldn't see Thomas's face from where he stood, Wolfe could see the skin on the back of his neck turning pink. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. Of course I trust you." Thomas turned toward him with a sheepish look. "How... how do you want to do this?"

* * *

Getting Thomas out of his shirt proved a greater challenge than anticipated. It would, of course, be entirely ineffective to attempt a massage with his clothing in place, and he indicated that he stripped to the waist when Jess assisted him, but it still took a great deal of stammering and blushing and repeated reassurances to secure his cooperation. Only after Wolfe agreed to remove his own shirt did Thomas relent, both of them turning in opposite directions in concession to modesty. Wolfe didn't point out the lack of logic in that. The act of stripping and the state of being bare were two different things, and he could not find fault in Thomas's greater anxiety about the one than the other. If his own preferences were different, well, that was no matter. He would have preferred to spare Thomas the sight of his scarred body, but if it made Thomas feel better to have them both equally undressed, he could manage it.

And if it took Wolfe longer than strictly necessary to strip out of his Scholar's robe and shirt, that was merely because he was giving Thomas adequate time to make himself comfortable.

Draping both shirt and robe over the back of a chair, Wolfe asked, "May I turn now?" He'd heard the creak of mattress springs and the sound of a shirt being thrown, but it was best to be sure.

"Yes. Go ahead."

Wolfe turned to see Thomas sitting on the bed, his broad, pale chest bare but for a light sprinkling of pale hairs. Not a scar to be seen. Wolfe had suspected as much after seeing him half dressed in Philadelphia, but he'd been dirtier then, and Wolfe had been more than a little distracted by Nic. Though he knew the feeling irrational, he couldn't stop the wave of relief that rolled through him at the sight. Foolish. He knew too well how many torments could be inflicted that left no mark.

He could feel Thomas's eyes on him, looking not with judgment or pity, but with sympathy. And guilt, a heavy look that shadowed the younger Scholar's face. "I'm sorry," Thomas said. "It must have been so much worse, for you. They went easy on me, as you can see."

"It isn't a competition, Schreiber," Wolfe said, crossing the distance between them. He rested his hands on Thomas's shoulders, wondering at how soft the skin was beneath his fingertips. "I suspect they merely covered their tracks better with you." He let his fingers roam downward, following the muscles of Thomas's arms. The younger Scholar was finally putting meat back on his large frame after so much deprivation. Wolfe stopped when he reached Thomas's wrists, which he turned to examine on either side. Yes, there they were. The shadows of cuffs. Leaving one of Thomas's hands where it rested on his knee, Wolfe lifted the other with both of his own, intending only to point out the mark as evidence that Thomas had not escaped unscathed. But the wild urge to kiss the boy arose once more, and before he'd come halfway to acknowledging it, he had Thomas's wrist at his lips. Softly, tenderly, he kissed the band of slightly discolored skin.

He'd had one to match, not so long ago. Faded now, blended into the skin. An advantage of his darker coloring.

"There are more, I am certain, " he whispered over Thomas's wrist, suddenly hesitant to raise his eyes. "Even where they cannot be seen, the scars are real. What happened to us was real. But so is everything after."

He looked up, pushing aside the utterly nonsensical shyness that had come over him. Thomas met his gaze with wide-eyed wonder. Or was that longing?

Whatever it was, it was a distraction from the task at hand. Straightening his back, he returned his hands to Thomas's shoulders. "Come on now, let's see to those muscles, " he said, guiding Thomas down onto the bed and turning him to lie on his stomach.

Spread out on the bed with his head resting on crossed arms on his pillow, Thomas would have looked relaxed if not for the nervous tension that made his shoulders quiver. Wolfe laid both hands flat and still on those trembling shoulders, fingers spread wide. Light, even pressure. "Shh, easy now," he murmured, the same way Nic did so often for him. "There is nothing to fear."

"I know," Thomas said, barely above a whisper. "But knowing doesn't help, does it? It doesn't make it stop."

"No," Wolfe agreed, "It doesn't." If only the answer were so simple. But he could no more heal Thomas's mind than he could heal his own. Shaking off that gloomy thought, he set his hands in motion. Slow, curling strokes of his fingers first, finding the contours of the pain and assessing the response to his ministrations. He wouldn't be able to keep those up long before his fingers started to ache, but he wouldn't need to. It would be time for harder strokes soon. Deeper penetration. 

Gods, it had been a long time since his thoughts wandered in _that_ direction with anyone but Nic. Unexpected that Thomas, of all people, would be the one to inspire such feelings. But perhaps not. He'd always been drawn to powerful bodies and skilled hands. And there was the depth of understanding that came from shared pain. One intimacy could so easily cross into another.

Nor, he found, was it an entirely unwelcome path to let his mind wander down. For all that he'd taken Thomas under his wing, the boy wasn't Jess. Wasn't his so much his son as his protege. And there was real pleasure in having the muscles of a fine young man beneath his hands, a handsome body on display for him. Why should he not enjoy the process of tending to Thomas's needs? It would make for an amusing story to tell Nic later, if nothing else.

It had been a long time since he had touched anyone but Nic so intimately, and he couldn't help but compare. Where Nic was all hard, lean muscle, Thomas was softer, a body born with its power rather than trained into it. Unlike Nic's weathered and furry hide, Thomas's skin was like velvet, the few hairs scattered across his lower back as fine as silk thread. Thomas relaxed more easily, but he was quieter, his loosening muscles and slowed breathing the only signs that the massage was having any effect at first. 

Wolfe had finished working the knots of tension from Thomas's left shoulder and started on the right when Thomas let out a soft groan. Nowhere near the volume of the sounds Nic made during a massage, and Wolfe had always been of the opinion that _Nic_ was on the quieter side as these things went, but the boy's neck and what little Wolfe could see of his face turned a vivid scarlet.

"Sorry," Thomas mumbled, pressing his face deeper into his arms.

Seized by another flare of mad desire, Wolfe leaned over and kissed the reddened skin on Thomas's neck, just beneath his golden curls. "You have nothing to apologize for. It isn't a crime to enjoy being touched."

The red of his neck deepening, Thomas said, "O-of course, sir. Y-you don't... you don't mind?"

With a chuckle, Wolfe turned his efforts back to loosening Thomas's tense muscles. "Certainly not. It is gratifying to have some evidence that my efforts are appreciated." Finding a particularly tight knot, he pressed his knuckles into it, yielding another satisfied groan that prompted him to redouble his efforts. His hands were starting to get a little sore, but he could still manage.

"Oh," Thomas moaned. "Oh, yes, very much appreciated. That is much better."

It was entirely possible he was imagining it, but it seemed to Wolfe that Thomas's moans took on a timbre of arousal as he worked his way down the young man's back, using the heels of his palms to work out the tension along his spine. There was a spot, just above Thomas's tailbone, that necessitated slipping a hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, and Wolfe couldn't help but notice the way Thomas lifted his hips to press into the touch.

So very tempting to let his hand explore further, discover what might be hidden by the bulky and shapeless work clothes Thomas favored. A round, soft ass, he imagined, not hard and muscular like Nic's, but something he could sink his fingers into.

Lifting his hands to flex fingers and palms back in a satisfyingly distracting stretch, he said, "Go on and roll over. Odds are that tension from your shoulders has your chest muscles tight as well. We may as well have a look."

Thomas kept his head in his hands. "My chest is fine," he said, a note of embarrassment in his voice. "Really, I'm sure it is. You don't have to do any more. I couldn't possibly continue to impose." His neck remained red. Not entirely unreasonable; he'd just had a hand down his pants, chaste as the touch had been.

His objection, though? That was unreasonable. Wolfe wasn't about to leave a job half done. "That will be enough fussing. It is, as I have said, not an imposition. Over, Schreiber," he said, employing the tone of command that always proved so effective with his students. Effective with Nic, too, often enough.

With speed drilled into him during his postulancy, Thomas rolled over. Just as quickly, his hands went to his groin, but not before Wolfe saw the bulge there. A deep crimson blush spread down from his face, scrunched up with embarrassment, to his chest.

Well. That was interesting.

"I-I'm sorry. So, so sorry. I-I don't-"

"Oh, hush, Thomas. You think you're the first man in the world to get an erection?" Wolfe took Thomas by the wrists and was mildly surprised when Thomas allowed him to lift his hands away, uncovering the distinctive shape of loose fabric tented by a sizable erection. Very sizable, by the look of it. Wolfe found himself glad that his own cock didn't harden quite so easily as it once did; that would have made this next part all the more uncomfortable.

"Um. Of course not. B-but..."

"It is perfectly normal to respond this way to pleasurable touch," Wolfe said, keeping his voice gentle, and his hold on Thomas's hands light and reassuring. "And it is a simple matter to resolve. We can continue as if this," he nodded toward Thomas's crotch, "were not even here. I could retreat for a short time and allow you privacy to attend to yourself." He should have stopped there, but he found himself continuing, beyond all good sense, "Or, if you would like, I could assist you with it. As you might guess, I have considerable experience in that area."

"Y-yes. Yes, of course. You and Lord Commander Santi..." Thomas's jaw dropped, and he drew his hands back from Wolfe to cover his face. "_Mein Gott_, we cannot do that. The Lord Commander would-"

Wolfe raised his eyebrows, fixing Thomas with a glare that cut off the protest. "The Lord Commander will have no objection. My heart may be entirely his, but the rest of me certainly is not. He has no desire to keep me from any pleasure I may find, nor would I so constrain him." Letting his face soften, he reached down to stroke Thomas's golden curls. "The question, my dear boy, is what _you_ desire."

Bringing his hands down from his face, Thomas looked up at Wolfe, arousal starting to show through his embarrassment. "In what ways... could you... assist?"

A smile tugged at Wolfe's lips. "Well, that part, too, can be massaged. I must confess that my hands are getting tired, though, and it would feel much better for you if I used my mouth. Would that be acceptable to you?"

Thomas looked down toward his erection. "Y-yes, but... I am very large. I don't know if-"

Wolfe silenced him with a finger on his lips. "Is that so? May I see?" He waited for Thomas's nod of agreement, then brought his hands down to free Thomas's erection. The boy hadn't exaggerated his own size, perhaps a first in Wolfe's experience. His cock was proportionate with the rest of him. Larger than Nic's by a substantial margin. It would be a challenge to swallow, but Wolfe always had loved a challenge.

Once he'd arranged himself between Thomas's legs, he began with a long stroke of his tongue along the underside of Thomas's shaft, noting the deep, hungry moan it drew from Thomas. A bead of moisture welled up at the tip, and he licked it away, swirling his tongue around the head as he did.

"_Mein Gott,"_ Thomas groaned, his hips lifting to meet Wolfe's mouth.

Such an impatient boy. Had it been Nic, Wolfe would have pinned his hips to the bed and teased him a while, but with Thomas, he thought, it would be better to be generous. He drew Thomas's head into his mouth, applying light suction while he continued the swirling of his tongue. Slowly, he lowered himself down, loosening his throat and his jaw until he had the whole of Thomas's cock in his throat and golden curls tickled his nose. He held Thomas there for a long minute, exploring the shaft with his tongue while he stroked Thomas's balls with one hand, his other arm occupied by the now essential task of restraining Thomas's bucking hips.

He usually had to work a lot harder to get such a reaction.

As Wolfe came up for air, Thomas's hand grasped at his hair, only to draw abruptly back.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have-"

"Hush," Wolfe said, looking at Thomas over the shining red of his cock's head. Not much difference between the color of that and the color of his face. He considered a moment, rubbing Thomas's cock against his lips as he did. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

"I..." Thomas looked up at the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head. "I never had the chance."

Of course. Instead of graduating as a young gold band Scholar, free to explore all the world's pleasures, he'd been locked away in a cell, suffering alone in the dark. And even if he might have had opportunities for such experimentation since, Wolfe could only imagine how intimidating intimacy with a stranger might be. Even with Nic, it had been hard to let himself be so vulnerable again.

Thomas was giving him something truly precious, and that meant that Wolfe could do no less than his best. Thomas, more than anyone, deserved to have his first experience set a high standard.

"Relax," Wolfe said softly, stroking Thomas's shaft and holding his face close to it so his breath would play on the wet and sensitive skin. "All you need to do is relax and enjoy what you're feeling. You can give me direction, if you like. Faster, slower, harder, softer, whatever pleases you. Should something displease you, tell me and I will stop. You're welcome to touch me as well. I rather like the feel of a hand in my hair."

Eyes still on the ceiling, Thomas began to reach down toward Wolfe again, but he hesitated. "I'm afraid I might pull it... if I become too excited."

Suppressing a laugh, Wolfe rubbed his cheek against Thomas's erection. "My darling boy, I would not mind that in the least. Please, show me all your excitement."

Thomas's hand came to rest on his head, large fingers threading gently through his hair, and Wolfe took Thomas into his mouth again. Despite his offer to take direction, Thomas offered little more than wordless sounds of pleasure and the occasional German swearword, leaving it to Wolfe to experiment with the many possible applications of lips, tongue, throat, and fingers, finding what would result in the best cries, the sharpest thrusts of hips. He owed Thomas this; there was so much more he could have, should have done to protect this beautiful, brilliant boy from the Library's cruelty. After all Thomas had suffered, it was only right that now Wolfe should be the one to give him pleasure, as if every lick, every bob of his head might erase some portion of the pain Thomas has been forced to endure.

Not that this was an unpleasant duty. Not in the least. It had been quite a while since Wolfe last had a new cock to explore, so he savored the size, the taste, the lovely gasps and moans that he elicited. His throat ached beautifully, that ache balanced by the softer pleasure of Thomas's fingers in his hair. His own cock grew harder, but thankfully without much urgency; he had no desire to pressure Thomas to reciprocate. It might be just as enjoyable to go home and have Nic suck him off while he described this magnificently large cock that he held in his mouth. Nic would be terribly jealous. He'd always had a great appreciation of size, and Wolfe highly suspected that Thomas was the largest either of them had enjoyed.

A tightening of Thomas's fingers in his hair, not quite a pull, but delicious all the same, heralded the approach of the boy's climax. Thomas held his breath, and Wolfe thought he heard teeth grinding along with Thomas's desperate groan, though he was quite distracted with the effort of swallowing Thomas to the root. He brought himself up for one last gasp of breath, then went down again, working his tongue in the quick circles that Thomas seemed to like best until Thomas let out one final, pleased groan, and hot fluid warmed his throat.

Wolfe swallowed and lifted his head, licking his lips. Thomas lay panting, one arm over his face, still quite red, and Wolfe took a moment to catch his own breath, admiring the sight before him. Even going soft, Thomas was marvelously large. But there was more to admire about Thomas than cock alone. The expression of pure bliss on his face, framed by a halo of unruly golden curls, was a real pleasure to see. And the broad expanse of his chest, heaving with each breath...

Yes, massaging that would be enjoyable. Sitting up, Wolfe tucked Thomas's cock away while Thomas's hand found its way to his side, warm and solid. He reached down to adjust his own half-hard cock in preparation to resume the massage, but Thomas caught his hand.

"Wait, sir," he said. "It's my turn, isn't it?" He sat up, leaning heavily on one arm, a pleasure-drunk smile on his face.

Gods, being called "sir" by a lovely young man in this context went straight to his cock, making it twitch and harden further. Pulling his hand back from Thomas, he shifted back toward the edge of the bed. "That isn't a requirement," he said. "I am not asking anything of you. I am here to take care of you, after all."

"But that wouldn't be fair," Thomas said, pulling him into an embrace. "You deserve to be taken care of, too."

He should have argued, but with the solid warmth of Thomas's arms around him and his forehead resting against Thomas's broad shoulder, he couldn't find it in him to make anything more than a token protest. "I don't need you to take care of me."

"Of course not, sir," Thomas said. "But what do you _want_?" He drew one large hand slowly down Wolfe's back, then up again. "Maybe this? Does this feel good?"

An utterly absurd question, and they both knew it. "Yes," Wolfe murmured, though his body had already answered, his back arching into the touch.

Thomas's fingers traced the edge of a burn scar on Wolfe's lower back. "Can I touch here?"

"Yes," Wolfe said, feeling himself tense a little at the implication of fragility. He sighed, willing himself to relax. The boy meant well. "They're no different than your skin. Merely uglier."

Though his hand was soft on the scar, Thomas's voice was firm as he said, "No. This is not ugly."

The earnestness of it made Wolfe smile. "You don't have to lie. I know what I look like."

"No." Thomas rubbed the marred skin in slow circles. "I am not lying. You are a very attractive man, Scholar Wolfe. And I would like to see more of you."

Before Wolfe could argue, Thomas shifted around to kneel beside the bed, turning Wolfe to face him. "There. I think the height will be right like this," he said, looking at Wolfe as he might consider one of his machines, then gently nudging his legs apart. He reached for the button of Wolfe's trousers, looking up at him in question.

Thomas made an alluring picture, all earnest and powerful and kneeling. A very convincing argument, indeed. Wolfe nodded his agreement. Watching Thomas unfasten the button, he asked, "Is it your first time doing this, too?"

"Yes. But you will provide instruction should I need it, will you not?" He got the buttons undone. Reached in.

A shiver of anticipation ran through Wolfe at the touch of hand to cock. A very loud and insistent part of him wanted to take hold of Thomas's hair, direct his head to the right place, and hope for the best. Better judgment prevailed, though, and he brought his hands to rest on Thomas's shoulders instead, steadying himself while Thomas's curious fingers moved over his half-hard length. "I suppose that my first lesson ought to be that each cock is different. You will find patterns of similarity, but you should observe your partner's behavior and listen to any guidance offered. And some, no matter how well you are doing, may not respond in the desired manner." Thank all the gods Nic liked to hear him lecture during sex; this might have been quite impossible without practice. "As for me... I may not become fully hard. I may not ejaculate. Even if you are pleasing me greatly."

Thomas kept his eyes on Wolfe's cock, continuing his fingers' explorations. "But you will tell me if I am pleasing you, will you not?"

"Yes." The word turned to a moan as Thomas pushed back his foreskin to lightly stroke his head. "Yes, of course."

"That is not a problem, then." Thomas leaned in until his lips almost touched Wolfe's hardening shaft. "Should I follow your example and begin with my tongue?"

"Yes," Wolfe said, shifting his hips forward to give Thomas better access.

Thomas took an analytical approach to the task, as Wolfe might have expected, testing his tongue's capabilities in sequential progression. Short strokes before long ones, slow before fast, lines before circles. When he got a reaction, whether in sound or motion, he repeated the stroke in question, then attempted variations. Though he wasn't usually loud in the bedroom, at least not in recent years, Wolfe made sure to offer Thomas loud and encouraging noises when he found pleasing combinations. And of those, there were plenty. Though his lack of experience was readily apparent, Thomas's quick mind and desire to please made him as good student at this as at anything.

It all felt lovely. So, naturally, he didn't get fully hard. Absent that cue to Thomas that it was time to progress to more intense stimulation, he tightened his grip on Thomas's shoulders to steady himself and said, "Use your whole mouth now. Suck it in, a little at a time, as far as you can go."

Looking attentively up at him, Thomas sucked in his head, stroking it with his tongue and interrupting the train of Wolfe's thoughts most thoroughly. If Wolfe was going to come at all - and that was never a certainty anymore - it might not take much more of this to get him there. Just the sight of Thomas on his cock, dipping gradually lower while keeping his eyes on Wolfe with that dutiful expression, was enough to quicken his pulse.

Of course, the poor boy might gag himself if he kept that up. "You don't have to take the whole thing," Wolfe said. "That takes practice. Put your hand around whatever part of the shaft you can't get into your mouth. You can coordinate your hand and mouth."

Eyebrows drawing together, Thomas came back up. "It is a matter of relaxing the throat, yes? May I attempt to practice on you? I would like to learn to take it all."

Isis and Osiris, this boy had no idea how tempting an offer he was making. A lesser man might have shoved his head down, fucked that eager throat, and called it a lesson. Wolfe had the restraint to merely think about it. "Yes, try," he groaned, shifting his hands to the bed and leaning back on them. "But go easy. Don't hurt yourself." 

To Thomas's credit, he managed, briefly, after a few attempts, to take Wolfe's full length. After that, though, he wrapped a hand around the base of Wolfe's shaft and came back up. "Yes. I think I see what is required. I can learn. But for now, I will focus on your pleasure." With that, he dipped back down, combining quick motion with firm suction.

Wolfe let out a hungry groan, tangling his fingers in the sheets. As methodically as he had tested the possibilities of his tongue, Thomas now tested speed and suction. This time, it was no effort at all to give him the moans and gasps necessary to spur him on. Rather, it was an effort to keep his hips from thrusting too hard. He still wasn't all the way hard, but he could feel an orgasm building, his muscles tensing. His balls tensing.

"I'm close," he gasped. "The balls... when the balls... get... tight... that means..."

Thomas sped up, no sign of hesitation in him at all. And as he bobbed, he started to hum. Softly, at first, and then louder, a deep sound that sent vibrations through Wolfe's shaft.

That was more than even Wolfe's stubborn cock could take. He came with a shout, collapsing back onto the bed and panting while Thomas slowed his sucking.

Thomas swallowed without complaint, and licked the tip of Wolfe's cock clean when he came up. "This is an interesting flavor," he said, licking his lips while he put Wolfe's cock away. "I wonder what the chemical composition is."

Wolfe groaned and let his head drop back to the mattress. "Only you would think of that after sucking a cock." He took another breath, considered the question. "I'll send a few references to your Codex."

"Thank you." Thomas came up to lay on the bed beside Wolfe, thankfully allowing him a little space to breathe. "And thank you for this lesson. It is a fascinating subject, truly. There are so many variables to consider. What was it that caused your orgasm, for instance? The motion? The suction? The humming?"

"The humming," Wolfe said after a moment's thought. "An inspired choice, that."

"Inspired, yes," Thomas said. "By Heron's works. I have been considering the effects of vibration, after reading some of the scrolls from the tomb. There are many applications, I think, but I could not test this one on my own."

Wolfe pushed himself upright. "Is that so? We've a massage to finish yet. Tell me about them while I work."

The remainder of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough, the ghosts of the past driven back by shared pleasure and curiosity. When Wolfe departed from the Lighthouse, he left Thomas with a list of reading material that he expected would be most educational. And he carried home a deep yearning to fuck Nic senseless and a box of prototype inventions to assist in that task.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I reuse this beginning premise of a printing press exhibition for something less sinful? Perhaps I should.


End file.
